


Boats and Birds

by seblaiens



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seblaiens/pseuds/seblaiens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rafe and Sam have history. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CHAPTERS WILL VARY GREATLY IN LENGTH! Each chapter discusses happenings in and before Uncharted 4 the player never got to see.

_If you'll be my star_  
_I'll be your sky_  
 _You can hide underneath me and come out at night_  

 

Rafe is only twenty-one years old when he meets Samuel Drake, a ‘fortune hunter’ (Rafe scoffs. He looked him up and found nothing special except petty crimes and theft.) seven years his senior, who does his damnest to try to convince Rafe that _he_ (and, by expansion, his little brother) is the best thing that could happen to Rafe in his quest to find Henry Avery’s lost treasure.

The expensive restaurant they’re dining in makes Rafe feel like he has the upper hand, it’s why he chose this location. He’s clearly seen the other man swallow hard once he had opened the menu and seen the extortionate prices. Rafe had almost rolled his eyes – what did Drake expect of an up-scale, Italian restaurant in downtown Seattle? Good for him Rafe had decided beforehand to let the other man struggle for just a little while before paying the bill for them both, anyway. It would indebt Drake to him, and shift the power balance right into Rafe’s hands.

For most of their meeting, Rafe isn’t even listening to Sam. Instead he just intently looks at Sam and the fine lines on the older man’s face. He looks older than twenty-eight, Rafe decides. If he met him on the streets, Rafe would think the older man to be well in his thirties. A receding hairline and tired looking hazel eyes finish off the job of making Sam look _seasoned_ , Rafe decides.

He’s never been as turned on as much as he is right now, by Sam.

Of course the suit Sam’s wearing is cheap, no big name brand and not even tailored to fit him right. He probably picked up the tie at a Goodwill, and he paired black shoes with a blue suit. Rafe had almost felt embarrassed to walk into the restaurant with him – the other man’s not even wearing a watch.

Sam keeps droning on about all the clues he has on Avery’s treasure, but he doesn’t have anything Rafe himself doesn’t, except the willpower to go to a Panamanian prison.

All the other man needs now is someone with enough cash on hand to bribe a poor warden to take them to the old ruins of the prison. And that’s where Rafe comes in.

“If I’m giving you my money,” Rafe takes a sip of his red wine before licking his lips, not wanting to stain them with the liquid, like Sam had (and oh god, Rafe wants to jump over the table and lick Sam’s lips until the stains are _gone_ ), “I want to come in with you and your brother.”

“I don’t know if the prison is, ah, a good fit for someone like… you,” Sam stutters, clearly not wanting to upset his chances of getting Rafe as his sponsor for his little excursion. “But if you insist,” he adds quickly as Rafe furrows his brows.

Putting away his glass and leaning his elbows onto the table, Rafe brings his face closer to the other man.

“I know you think of me as daddy’s prince, Drake,” Rafe smiles as he speaks, “but I promise you, I’m not some spoilt little rich boy who hasn’t seen the world outside the gates of his parent’s estate.”

He sees Sam swallow nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing just above the dark blue and white striped tie he’s wearing, his tongue darting out to lick over the dark purple part of his stained lips.

“I’ve been around the block once or twice, too, you know.”

 

Exactly one hour later Rafe is pressed against the wall of his bedroom in his flat, moaning Sam’s name as the other man let’s his hands travel beneath Rafe’s dress shirt, his lips tracing Rafe’s throat and neck, his tongue darting out to lick over sensitive, sweaty skin.

Rafe pulls on Sam’s hair when it gets to be too much, bringing their lips back together violently. Their teeth crash against each other but they both don’t mind it a little rough. Sam’s suit jacket is lying on the floor together with Rafe’s, a few pulled off buttons from where Rafe had gotten impatient with Sam’s button down, and Rafe’s bowtie thrown over a lamp that eventually fell down when they had knocked into it. Rafe had heard the glass of the light bulb shatter on the ground.

 “Get on your knees,” Sam growls as he lets Rafe fall back on the floor.

Rafe doesn’t waste any time, ripping open Sam’s belt and opening his suit pants before pulling them and the man’s underwear down far enough to get his mouth on Sam’s cock. He has a hard time sliding all the way down Sam’s shaft with his cock still dry, but it’s easily fixed with a little bit of saliva.

“Yeah, fuck,” Sam moans when Rafe’s lips meet the base of his cock, his mouth and nose pressed into the neatly trimmed pubic hair. Sam pushes forward until the back of Rafe’s head meets the wall, keeping him against it with one hand while the other holds up his white shirt. He then begins thrusting into Rafe’s throat, who is not even gagging at the intrusion.

And Sam’s not really sure how he got into this situation.

Sure, Rafe had flirted with him, using his words and his eyes, occasionally letting their legs bump against each other under the table of the restaurant, but Sam hadn’t responded in any way. Until, yeah, he let Rafe climb onto his lap in the backseat of the limousine which was on the way to Rafe’s apartment under the lieu of wanting to show Sam ‘clues’. The black-out windows and the partition that separated them from the driver were gods send in that moment, and they almost hadn’t made their way out of the elevator when it opened up again on the sixteenth floor. Sam had caught a glance of himself in the mirrored walls of the lift, his hair tousled from where he had carefully slicked it back with a little bit of gel.

Which brings him back to Rafe, whose hair Sam is currently pulling into all sorts of directions.

Sam’s never gotten his cock sucked by a guy before, never even thought sexually about another man, but if it’s anything like this _all the time_ , he’s been missing out. Rafe is unashamed, staring up at him while one of his hands reaches between Sam’s legs, stroking over his balls with his mouth still full of cock.

Sam pulls out of Rafe’s mouth and begins jerking himself off, guiding Rafe’s head down so the other man can lick over his balls. A low groan escapes Sam’s mouth and he presses Rafe’s head even harder into his groin, until he’s getting close to coming.

“Come here,” he mumbles and pulls Rafe back up, shoving him into the direction of the bed while Sam pushes his pants and underwear completely down, his shoes and socks going first before he can step out of them. Rafe watches him and does the same, pulling Sam on top of him when they’re both naked.

“Ever done this before?” Rafe asks when he feels Sam’s apprehensiveness while getting on top of Rafe.

“Not with a guy,” Sam replies, licking his lips and looking into Rafe’s eyes.

“But you know what to do?”

“I’ve got the basic idea.”

“Great.”

Rafe leans over to his nightstand and pulls open the drawer, getting out lube and pushing it into Sam’s hands, who looks at him with eyes as wide as saucers. Rafe rolls his eyes and takes the bottle back, squeezing some of the liquid on Sam’s fingers and guiding them to his ass. He raises one eyebrow and grins up at Sam, who is completely out of his element, experimentally pushing the first digit of his middle finger into Rafe’s ass.

“I’m not a virgin, Samuel,” he says after a while when Sam still hasn’t moved any more.

“Right.” Sam pushes the rest of his finger in, adds a second when Rafe spreads his legs for more. “This alright?”

“Splendid.”

“Christ,” Sam laughs quietly. “You sure I’m not hurting you?”

“Just start fucking me already,” Rafe says exasperated as he reaches for a condom. “I don’t have time for a heart to heart conversation before I go limp.”

Sam pulls his fingers out to put on the condom, getting in position as soon as it’s on, with one of Rafe’s legs on his shoulder.

“Wait,” Rafe warns as Sam begins to push in. “You forgot the lube.”

“Ah yeah, right, sorry,” Sam breathes out heavily as Rafe squirts some on his dick, rubbing up and down a few times to spread it evenly over Sam’s cock. “Like I said, never done this before.”

“I noticed.”

“Hey, don’t judge before I even put it in.”

Rafe is just about to give back a snarky comment when the words stop in his throat and turn into a high pitched whine, caused by Sam thrusting his cock into him. He holds onto Sam’s firm thighs and throws his head back, trying to get used to the sensation of a cock in his ass again. It has been quite a while since Rafe’s last time with a man, at least four months, but he’s never had problems taking cock after his first time.

“Everything okay?”

“Mhhhm,” Rafe closes his eyes and licks his lips, slowly taking his hands away from Sam’s legs. “Go slow.”

“Yeah,” Sam says breathlessly as he starts thrusting into Rafe, struggling to find a rhythm that’s comfortable for them both for a while, until he takes both of Rafe’s legs onto his shoulders and leans forward a little.

“God you’re _tight_ ,” Sam groans.

“Pull out.”

“What?”

“Relax, I just want to turn around.”

“Oh, alright,” Sam complies and watches as Rafe turns onto his hands and knees, looking back at Sam expectantly when the other man doesn’t move.

“Well…”

“Yeah, wait.” Sam grabs the bottle of lube again, putting more on his dick before he shoves himself back into Rafe. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

Finding a rhythm is easier this time, and Rafe’s low groans drive Sam absolutely mad. He grabs onto Rafe’s hip and pulls him back on his cock with each thrust, occasionally stroking his hands up and down Rafe’s smooth back. Sam’s never been very vocal during sex, but something about Rafe brings it out in him, and he lets the groans and whines out freely as he gets closer and closer to coming.

He reaches around to Rafe’s front, stroking over the smaller man’s cock, wanting him to come before he did himself.

“Ah, fuck, Sam,” Rafe moans, his elbows slipping until his chest meets the mattress, his ass still held up by Sam. He slaps Sam’s hand away when he’s just about to orgasm, finishing the job himself and shooting come all over his hand.

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Sam himself comes, continuing to pound into Rafe until the last waves of his orgasm subside and he’s left panting and sweating above Rafe, his hair drenched and a few drops falling onto Rafe’s back.

He lets the condom fall next to the bed after pulling out, figuring Rafe had a maid that could do the dirty work for him.

Rafe gets a few tissues to clean himself up before he turns his back towards Sam, who feels weird just lying next to Rafe and not even acknowledging that they just had sex. He debates leaving for a few seconds, before he decides to play his cards and cuddles up next to Rafe, spooning him and pressing a kiss on his neck.

Rafe turns around in his arms, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips a thin line.

“What is this?”

“It’s called spooning, but you’re doing it wrong.”

Rafe can’t suppress a smile, shakes his head and carefully puts and an arm around Sam, their chests touching. Sam leans forward for one more lingering, deep kiss, tongues carefully tracing each other before they part with a loud smacking sound.

“Good night,” Sam whispers.

“Night.”

 

Bright sunlight wakes Rafe the next morning, unusual for Seattle in March. He forgot to pull the curtains closed yesterday night, and his alarm clock tells him it’s merely 6:17 am. On a Saturday.

He groans and turns around, bumping against Sam and waking him. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Sam takes initiative, kissing Rafe before getting up to walk into the en suite bathroom. He doesn’t bother closing the door as he takes a piss, never had with someone he had hooked up with.

Rafe’s apartment must have cost a small fortune, Sam realizes as he slowly takes in his surroundings. It’s huge for just one person and in downtown Seattle, and, most of all, it _looks_ hella expensive. The bathroom is tiled black with white accents, looks like straight out of a catalogue. Sam thinks of the tiny bathroom in the apartment he shares with Nathan back in Boston. Their entire flat could probably fit inside Rafe’s living room.

When he gets back into bed, Rafe is already fast asleep again. Sam considers letting him sleep, but he’s already awake and wants to be entertained by his host, even though he enjoys the way Rafe’s face relaxes and his hair falls into his face, making him look even younger than he already is. Carefully, Sam takes Rafe into his arms, pressing their chests together and shoving one of his legs in-between Rafe’s.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he whispers when Rafe opens his eyes again, looking groggily up at him.

Rafe doesn’t answer, instead just rests his head against Sam’s chest and sighs. It’s been a long time since Rafe had last woken up next to someone – he usually prefers his partners to leave before he wakes up. This is different, but enjoyable.

“I hope you don’t expect breakfast that goes beyond coffee,” Rafe eventually says as he gets out of bed, stretching and hearing his bones crack before he makes his way into the kitchen.

“I expected better of you.”

“Everyone always does.”

Sam laughs before he gets up and follows Rafe. Might as well drink expensive coffee if he has the chance to.

 

Sam somehow manages to sneak back into the hotel room he’s sharing with Nathan when his brother is out, able to shower, change out of his ruined shirt and suit, and swap them for jeans and a t-shirt. Sam checks his throat and chest for any hard to explain bruises, glad that Rafe and he had kept the foreplay to a minimum when he doesn’t find any. When he realizes he’s behaving like a cheating husband, he has to bite back a laugh and imagines Nathan standing in the door way with his hands on his hip, asking where he’d been all night.

He’s just drying his hair when Nathan walks into the door, a plastic bag with some snacks and drinks in his hand.

“Glad you showed up alive,” Nathan says as Sam takes the bag out of his hand, grabbing one of the sandwiches Nate had gotten them and tearing into it.

“I’m so hungry,” Sam says around a mouth full of food, ignoring Nathan’s statement.

“What, rich boy didn’t feed you?”

“His name is Rafe, and no, there was no romantic breakfast, sadly.”

Nathan sits down on the twin bed closer to the window, watching as Sam eats without practically ever chewing.

“So, what’s he like?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “He’s alright. More interested in the treasure part of Avery’s treasure than the Avery part, but who’s gonna blame him for that.”

“The rich getting richer, again,” Nathan chuckles.

“He invited us to his parents mansion, even offered us a place to stay there.”

“Don’t really want to spend time with mommy and daddy Adler, though.”

“Apparently they don’t even live there, most of the time,” Sam explains. “I wish I had a mansion to not live in.”

“Well, doesn’t matter anyway, I changed my flight to Friday.”

“Why?” Sam looks at his brother in confusion. They had planned in three weeks to get to know Rafe, establish some trust before they meet up in Orlando with Sully to work with him on finding a trustful warden and a getaway vehicle.

“Girlfriend troubles.”

“Christ, how do you expect to keep dating her when you’re in a Panamanian prison?”

“I’ll figure something out, no worries.”

“Not worried, I’m not her biggest fan anyway,” Sam mumbles more to himself than to Nathan. “The time where I like one of your girls is yet to come.”

“Well, I’m not planning on marrying her anytime soon,” Nathan shrugs. “Now, when am I meeting this Adler guy?”

 

To say that the Adler mansion is impressive is an understatement. A massive black fence blocks them from entering the premises, the gate big enough to comfortably let two cars in and out at the same time. A driveway leads to the garage and the entrance of the three-story, grey brick house, one of those douchebag water fountains in front with the water turned on.

“He certainly has the money,” Nathan states as Sam rolls down the window of their rented car to press the bell which would alert Rafe to their presence. A few seconds pass before the gate slowly opens for them.

“Promise me to actually talk to him before hating him?” Sam asks, a little annoyed with his little brother’s attitude. “We need him.”

Nathan grumbles and crosses his arms in front of his chest, pouting until Sam parks the car and they walk up to the front door, where Rafe is waiting for them.

“Rafe Adler,” Rafe says and shakes Nathan’s hand before stepping back into the house, Sam and Nate following him.

“Nathan Drake.”

“Samuel,” Rafe nods at Sam, raising one of his eyebrows and grinning dirtily at Sam when Nathan has his back turned towards them. Sam has to restrain himself to not press Rafe against the nearest wall and take him then and there.

“Rafe,” he says instead nodding at the smaller man. “I brought the journal with the notes.”

“Great, let’s go to the library,” Rafe points them into the direction of the huge staircase inside the foyer, leading up to the second floor.

‘Library,’ Nathan mouths at Sam when Rafe starts walking up the stairs in front of them, Sam just shaking his head at his brother.

The library is no less impressing than the outside of the house, huge bookcases stacked full with all kinds of textbooks, novels, and magazines lining the walls. The floor is red wood, creaking with age as they walk over it, which adds to the mysterious, dark feeling of the room. Even Nathan has to admit he’s impressed by the Adler’s collection as he walks by and spots quite a few first editions of several best sellers on the dusty shelves.

Sam and Nathan go over their mother’s notes with Rafe, who intently listens as the two men excitedly share their knowledge of the late Avery and his infinite riches, and how they think the next clue is hidden inside the cell of his first mate, Burns.

They go over the all the information they could find on the prison in Panama where Burns was hanged, and after a few exhausting hours of several internet searches and calls in broken Spanish (until Sam couldn’t bear it anymore and took over the phone from Nathan), they find out that a few ruins of the old prison still stand.

Sam stretches out after the last call with the former manager of the prison, looking out of the window where darkness had overtaken the bright sunshine from before.

“We should probably get back soon, I’m starving,” Nathan says, rubbing his stomach before he gets up and takes a closer look at some of the books in the library. Rafe had excused himself to the bathroom, so Nathan felt free to search around the room.

“You can drive back to the hotel, Rafe and I still have some stuff to go over.”

Nathan looks at him for a few seconds before responding, and Sam can clearly see that Nathan didn’t buy his excuse.

“How are you gonna get back?”

“I’ll take a cab.”

“You don’t have money for a cab.”

“Okay, _he’ll_ get me a cab.”

Nathan scoffs. “Already relying on gratuities from daddy’s boy?”

“Get outta here,” Sam laughs, throwing a pen at Nathan and hitting him in the chest. His brother raises his arms in capitulation, before making his way out of the library. “I hope I don’t get lost trying to get out!” Nathan yells just as Rafe steps back into the room, the two of them nodding at each other in a good-bye.

Rafe walks over to Sam, getting on his lap when Sam holds out his arms. Their lips meet hungrily for a few seconds before Sam pushes Rafe back, stroking his short hair back.

“My brother thinks you’re a stuck up prick.”

“He’s not wrong.”

Sam laughs and lets his hands stroke over Rafe’s sides, feeling the expensive material of the black sweatshirt and Rafe’s hot skin beneath.

“Good thing I’ve got a thing for stuck up rich boys.”

 

Sam doesn’t make it back to the hotel that night, instead spends it spread out on Rafe’s king sized bed and curled up in his satin sheets, with Rafe on top of him, riding and worshipping him until early morning, when they both fall asleep in exhaustion.

 

Nathan leaves that week, back to Boston, and Sam moves into the Adler mansion to spend the next two weeks ‘researching’ with Rafe. ‘Establishing trust,’ he had called it when Nathan had asked.

Establishing trust entails sipping champagne while relaxing in a hot tub with Rafe rubbing his shoulders. It entails meals cooked by maids and sex with Rafe, whenever Sam wants it. Party’s in up-scale clubs Sam had never dreamed of visiting, and the occasional illegal drug Rafe discreetly pushes into his hands whenever they’re there.

Sam gets absorbed into every facet of Rafe’s personality; the way he curls up next to Sam in the morning, his taste in music (mostly Pet Shop Boys, which nicely compliments Sam’s personal taste of classic rock), the clothes he wears (his closet filled with only black and white garments), the way he speaks fluent German when his grandparents call to ask their grandson about business, and the way he plays the piano when Sam forces him to.

And best of all, Rafe is even more into him than Sam is into Rafe. It feels nice to be so wanted, to only have to quirk an eyebrow in Rafe’s direction and have to man on his knees in front of Sam, ready to do anything Sam wanted.

It’s the most whirlwind romance in Sam’s life, even more exciting than his first relationship with a girl named Crystal when he was seventeen and madly in love.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Rafe whispers in his ear when they’re lying next to each other on Rafe’s bed, sweaty and exhausted.

“You.”

“I like the sound of that,” Rafe grins and leans over to kiss Sam, tangling his fingers in the man’s almost shoulder length hair. “Pity we’ll be in jail soon.”

“Hmm, no sex for at least a week. Don’t know if I’ll survive that, to be honest.”

“It’ll be torture.”

“Absolute torment. I’ll also miss pretending to be rich.”

Rafe grunts out a laugh.

“Once we find Avery’s treasure, you’ll be worth almost as much as me.”

“What a humble thing to say.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna buy?”

“Probably cigarettes, but after that I’ll take you to Colombia, show you where I spent my early twenties.”

Rafe holds out his hand for Sam to shake, the two grinning at each other as they make their promise.

 

“Once this is done, I’ll run away with you,” Rafe whispers late in the night when Sam’s asleep, only moonlight illuminating the handsome outline of Sam’s face. “I won’t care about anything else but you.”

And if Sam smiles in his sleep, it’s because Rafe follows him even in his sleep.

 

 

They’re staying at Sully’s house for a few weeks so they can go over the plan with him. He’ll be their contact person outside of the prison in Panama, and if anything goes wrong inside, he’ll have all of Rafe’s bank details to bail them out in an instant. Rafe sets up Sully’s contact to the warden they bribed, Vargas, and together they go over where Sully is to park their getaway boat, which Rafe financed as well.

Sully doesn’t know what to make of Rafe.

He’s always hated the kind of person Rafe is, snobby and rich with no achievements to call their own, but Rafe at least wants to do _something_ with his life that isn’t being daddy’s favorite. And while he doesn’t quite trust Sam’s judgement, the elder Drake seemed to like Rafe well enough. Nate was a different story though, but Sully knows their mutual dislike lied more on Nathan’s part, who always has been against involving someone else in Avery’s treasure solely on the principle of wanting to do it with Sam alone, as a family.

So instead of making an uninformed judgement, Sully beholds his opinion and just observes.

They’ve situated Nathan in the guest bedroom, while Sam and Rafe shared the L-shaped corner sofa in the living room. Sully had pointed out that there was another couch in his office, but both men had assured him that they were perfectly fine having to share. Sully had just shrugged and figured they’d change their mind after Sam would keep Rafe awake with his snoring all night.

The day before they leave for Panama, Sam and Rafe offer to cook for them all. Sam has been trying his hardest to domesticate Rafe and get him to actually cook, instead of eating in restaurants or ordering take out every day. Sam would never tell Rafe, but he despises him for the way he so easily spends money every day, on things he doesn’t even need, or, like in the case of food, could get for a fraction of the cost. And if change means he has to listen to Rafe whine and complain for forty-five minutes a day, he is okay with that.

 

“I’ll never need to know how to do this stuff,” Rafe says, annoyed at Sam who is still making fun of Rafe’s attempt at peeling potatoes, hours after dinner. So, knowing the only sure fire way of shutting Sam up, Rafe pushes him into the big armchair and climbs on top of him.

“You’re such a brat,” Sam whispers and slaps Rafe’s ass. Rafe only laughs in response, grinding his crotch into Sam’s and biting the older man’s lip, before licking over it to soothe the skin.

“Spoilt. Entitled. Just generally a real pain in the ass.”

“You wouldn’t want me any other way,” Rafe states with a smug grin, knowing exactly how riled up Sam gets whenever he plays the little prince who needs everything done his way.

“No, I guess I wouldn’t,” Sam whispers, pulling Rafe’s head down to bring their lips back together, their tongues meeting each other as soon as their mouths are touching. “I guess I need someone who gets on my nerves so much, I don’t know if I want to kill them or fuck their brains out.”

“I hope you do the fucking before the killing.”

Sam chuckles as he takes off Rafe’s black V-neck, exposing an almost hairless chest and small, rosy nipples. He leans forward to lick over one of them, biting and sucking on it until it’s hard and Rafe is groaning, his hands gripping the back of the arm chair they’re sitting on.

“You drive me absolutely crazy,” Sam whispers as he trails kisses down Rafe’s torso, his hands still planted firmly on Rafe’s ass, squeezing his cheeks. He sucks a few bruises onto Rafe’s soft stomach before he leans back and admires his work, the purple bruises standing out in stark contrast to Rafe’s pale skin, even in the dim lighting of the living room.

Rafe leans down again, his hands on either side of Sam’s head. He strokes through Sam’s hair as he licks and nips the other’s lips, moaning softly into Sam’s mouth when his hand finds its way under Rafe’s pants and strokes over his bare ass.

“You gonna fuck me on Sullivan’s couch?” Rafe grins and bites his lip.

“I’d fuck you just about anywhere.”

“In prison, too?”

“Especially in prison.”

Rafe takes off Sam’s sweatshirt and runs his hands down Sam’s hairy chest. He’s just put his hands on Sam’s crotch when he hears the door into the living room open. It’s angled so that only the back of the armchair is visible from the door, hiding Sam from a sleepy looking Sullivan and instead forcing eye contact onto Rafe and Sully.

“Victor,” Rafe says emotionless. Sully just nods, not realizing anything odd is up until Sam turns halfway in the chair and sticks his head out to the side, almost throwing Rafe off his lap in the process.

The tension is almost palpable for a few seconds, Sam and Rafe staring at Sully while Sully lets his eyes dart between them.

“Ah hell, why should I care,” Sully finally shrugs and walks into the kitchen, getting himself the glass of water he had come in for in the first place.

“Just don’t let Nate know, he wouldn’t be happy about it.”

Rafe and Sam are quiet until they hear the door shut again, staring at each other before Sam starts giggling.

“I don’t think this is funny,” Rafe says, a blank look on his face.

“It is a little bit funny. Now, continue.”

“Continue?”

“If I remember correctly you were just about to go down on me.”

“I was?”

“Yeah, and you also said you wouldn’t mind if I just fall asleep afterwards.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

Sam pouts at Rafe as he puts his hands on Rafe’s head, pressing him down towards his crotch.  Rafe huffs but glides on his knees in front of Sam, opening the man’s belt and jeans and pulling them down his thighs. Sam’s wearing blue boxers, an obvious bulge already stretching the fabric.

Rafe licks his lips as he also pulls down Sam’s underwear, revealing the older man’s thick cock, lying against his thigh. Rafe strokes him for a few times before wrapping his lips around the head, softly sucking as he strokes Sam to full hardness. Sam spreads his legs wider as Rafe pulls of and runs his tongue along Sam’s shaft, groaning softly when Rafe presses a kiss to his balls.

Sam takes ahold of his cock, rubbing it over Rafe’s lips until he opens them and takes Sam’s cock back in his mouth, easily sliding halfway down, until Sam’s cock hits the back of his throat. Rafe adjusts his legs for a better position to take Sam deeper into his throat, encouraged by the noises coming out of the other man’s mouth.

“Fuck, Rafe,” Sam groans when Rafe momentarily gets all of his cock into his throat, pulling off quickly and coughing into his hand a few times soon after. Sam can see Rafe’s eyes watering, but he knows Rafe enjoys this just as much as Sam himself does.

Rafe decides to go for the quickest option of getting Sam off, stroking the base of his cock while sucking on his head and letting his tongue dance around the sides and tip, occasionally going deeper and taking almost all of Sam into his mouth. It doesn’t take long before Sam starts tensing up, his hand stroking over Rafe’s jaw in warning, but Rafe doesn’t pull off like he usually does, instead keeps sucking until Sam comes, Rafe’s mouth quickly filling up. He hadn’t expected that much, and has to pull off after a few spurts, swallowing while more dribbles onto his lips.

“Fuck, Rafe, I was I had a camera here,” Sam chuckles after a few seconds, enjoying the sight of Rafe with come all over the bottom of his face.

“I’d fucking murder you.”

“It would absolutely be worth it.”

Rafe gets up from his kneeling position and climbs into Sam’s lap.

“My turn.”

“Mmm, no, I’m tired.”

“Are you serious?”

Sam just hums and lets his head fall back against the armchair, his eyes closed. He pretends to start snoring when Rafe starts opening his own pants.

“You’re an asshole,” Rafe huffs and punches Sam’s shoulder.

“Mmm, you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

“Fuck off.”


	2. Chapter 2

_But you can skyrocket away from me_  
_And never come back if you find another galaxy_  
 _Far from here with more room to fly_  
 _Just leave me your stardust to remember you by_

Rafe has never had to deal with death in his life. Never felt the consequence of a decision quite like this ever before. He tries his hardest to not feel anything but emptiness after Sam’s death, but the man follows him in his sleep, the once pleasant dreams about them replaced by Sam’s empty eyes and blood dripping from his mouth, before falling, falling, _falling_.

They reach the boat and climb on board, Rafe shivering not from the cold water, but from the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he pulls Nathan behind him into the interior.

“Where’s Sam?” Sully yells at them, but Rafe just shakes his head.

“He’s gone,” he answers when Sully won’t get behind the wheel, “start the goddamn boat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Rafe shouts as he pushes Nathan into a seat. He hears Sully leave.

Rafe looks around the room and spots the duffel bag they had packed before going into the prison, filled with clothes to change into, towels, and new pairs of shoes. He swallows hard as he unpacks and has to go through Sam’s stuff, keeping the man’s denim jacket in his hands for just a few seconds before shoving it back, deep into the bag.

“Change your clothes,” he orders and throws a towel and clothes into Nathan’s direction, who hasn’t moved from the spot Rafe had positioned him in before.

“Come on, Nate,” Rafe grits his teeth as he shakes Nathan’s shoulder, the other man looking at him as if he had just realized where he was and that Rafe had talked to him. “Get changed.”

Nathan nods and complies. Rafe turns around while he slips into the dry clothing, but he can’t get rid of the cold, the ice in his stomach when he looks at the duffel bag with Sam’s clothes. He feels as if he might vomit. When he turns back to Nathan, he’s sitting on the couch again, his head buried in his hands. Rafe has no idea what to do now. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself, what about someone who feels just as much, if not more than him?

He leaves Nate alone in the in the room and walks onto the deck of the boat. They’re going as fast as they can and a storm is brewing, the wind harsh in Rafe’s eyes as he closes the door behind him. He holds onto the railing as he vomits, retching for a few minutes when there’s nothing left of the meager prison meals he’s been eating for the past few days.

Get yourself together, Rafe thinks as he spits one last time before returning back into the ship. There needs to be one person who doesn’t lose track of their goal, and god knows it won’t be Nathan.

 

Back in the US, whenever Nathan gets that look on his face as if he wants to talk about Sam, Rafe evacuates the room as fast as possible, not wanting to hear anything the younger Drake had to say about his ‘loss.’

Even more than Nathan, Rafe avoids Sullivan. He convinces Nathan to go to Scotland as fast as possible after he buys the remains of the Saint Dismas Cathedral, just so he can escape Sullivan’s eyes, and the way he looks at Rafe whenever they’re near each other.

And when their plane touches down in Edinburgh, it’s the first time that Rafe feels like he can breathe again.

 

Rafe kneels in front of the make-shift grave he’s made for Sam under the tallest tree on his newly acquired land, a few meters behind the Saint Dismas Cathedral. It’s not the real deal by any chance, only a tiny stone with elegant lettering spelling out ‘Samuel Drake, 1973-2002’. He’s plucked a few flowers on his way over to the grave that he puts down on the earth in front of Sam’s memorial, a few daisies and violas which wildly grow all over the almost untouched wilderness around the Cathedral.

With a heavy sigh Rafe sits down, staring at the tiny stone, tracing Sam’s name with his finger. He had put the headstone here the first week after Nathan and he had arrived in Scotland, sneaking away one evening from where they had set up their tents and finding this spot, under a tree, with a view of the Atlantic Ocean. He thinks maybe Sam would have liked it here.

A branch cracks behind Rafe, and he swirls around only to see Nathan stand behind him, looking down at him and the grave.

“What do you want?” Rafe asks emotionless, figuring it’s too late to hide what he’s visiting from Nathan. Nathan doesn’t answer, instead he squats down next to Rafe.

Rafe gets up to leave, the intimacy of the moment broken by Nate’s arrival. He’s embarrassed, but at least he hadn’t yet begun to cry or talk to the fucking thing as if Sam somehow had to capability to actually hear him.

“Rafe,” he hears Nate say behind him as Rafe starts walking away into the direction of their tents. “Rafe!”

“What?” Rafe shouts, turning around and raising his arms slightly.

“Thank you.” Nathan sounds so honest, so small, and even though Rafe knows he’s not the only one hurting, it’s the first time he empathizes with Nathan.

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know it must be hard for you, too, you two had gotten close,” Nate continues as if he hadn’t heard Rafe.

“You know nothing, Nate,” Rafe interrupts laughing, wrapping his arms around himself and turning towards the ocean, his back to Nathan. “You don’t have the slightest clue.”

“I lost my brother, Rafe. My only family,” Nathan sounds angrier now, but it only makes Rafe laugh more.

“Well, family is overrated,” Rafe mumbles more to himself than to the other man, taking a few steps towards the cliff side. Waves crash against the rock, the water foaming and bubbles gathering around rocks that jut out of the ocean. It would be so easy, to just take a few more steps and end it all, but Avery’s treasure is so close Rafe can practically _taste_ it. If it was the last thing in his life, he would find that goddamn treasure they’ve all been obsessed about for so long.

He hears the footsteps behind him too late, and when he turns around he’s greeted with Nathan’s fist to his face, meeting his nose with a sickening crack. Rafe doubles over in pain, his hand coming up to his face and pulling away when he feels blood pooling out his nostrils.

“You fucking asshole!” Rafe shouts before jumping on Nathan, bringing the taller man into a stumble and making him crash onto the ground, where Rafe gets on top of him.

“You have no fucking idea,” Rafe repeats as he gets a few good hits on Nathan, breaking the other man’s nose and almost definitely bruising the entire left side of his face before Nathan throws him off and gets up, kicking Rafe in the stomach.

Rafe groans and curls in on himself.

“We’re done here,” Nathan spits blood next to Rafe’s head, “we haven’t found anything in over a month. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. Feel free to stay and rot.”

Rafe turns on his back as Nathan walks away, one hand still on his stomach. He feels nauseous, partly from the kick, partly from the taste of blood in his mouth that slowly makes its way down his throat.

He watches the sun set, still lying in the same spot hours later. He knows Nathan won’t leave without him – they had only brought one car, and it would take Rafe hours to walk to the nearest town. The younger Drake isn’t callous enough to do that to someone he would consider an acquaintance (or even _friend_ , even though Rafe thinks that is completely out of reach after this).

With aching bones Rafe gets up just before the sunlight completely fades and makes his way over to their tents, where Nathan had started a small fire and started warming up their dinner. He throws Rafe a first aid kit when he sits down on one of the chairs, and under much pain Rafe tries to patch his nose up, hoping he could get it straight enough he wouldn’t need plastic surgery in a few months to get his old nose back.

When he’s done he takes a look at Nathan, whose face has already begun to turn a deep purple on the left side. Rafe has to admit he’s proud of how well he landed those punches to Nate’s face.

They eat and go to sleep in silence, almost as if they agreed upon complete neutrality between each other. Rafe books them flights back to the US as soon as they find a hotel with internet access, to Miami for Nathan and to Seattle for himself. Nate’s stop over is in New York while Rafe’s is in Toronto, which is just fine with Rafe. They would get themselves into big trouble if they decided to go at each other’s throats again.

The more distance between them, the better.

 

Back in Seattle, Rafe throws himself into work, leaving Avery and any mention of the Drake’s behind. He doesn’t take any new jobs, even when his old contacts inform him about black market auctions in Italy – he doesn’t want anything to do with that, for at least a little while.

His father is glad he’s back working for him, Rafe knows. He can interpret his father better now than when he was a teenager full of hatred for his parents, who sent him away to boarding school and forced him into extracurriculars the few weeks in the summer when he was home and not interning somewhere.

If they notice something different about him when he returns from Scotland, they don’t mention it. His mother only mentions she likes that he’s home more often now.

Rafe briefly thinks about finding a professional to talk to, but he scoffs at himself whenever that thought slips into his mind. He is _fine_. He doesn’t need help. People die every day, it’s not any different if you happen to know one of them who doesn’t make it. They had all known there were risks, Sam had just been too slow.

They buy him an antique compass from a pirate Rafe’s never even heard of before for his twenty-second birthday, and it might just be the most thoughtful gift he had ever gotten from someone before. It’s a shame he loses is the same night he gets it, when he stumbles out of a taxi and into his parents mansion, reeking of booze and still on a cocaine high (a birthday favor from one of his private school friends). He doesn’t even make it to his room, instead falls asleep on the stairs in the foyer.

He will probably never forget the shocked look on his mother’s face next to his father’s disappointed one when he wakes up. They might have suspected that Rafe wasn’t an angel, but he’s never given them any proof to doubt him. Everything illegal or anything that could cause any kind of questions is stored away in a built in safe in his closet, the guns, the drugs, contact information and forged papers. He almost tells them about it as his father helps him up from the stairs and drags him to the couch in the living room. Rafe giggles to himself, turning into a belting laughter when his mother covers her mouth with her hand when she realizes that Rafe can’t even walk by himself without help. It’s like all the tension built up by years spent sneaking around, climbing into and out of his bedroom window, hiding liquor and drugs from the cleaners is unraveling all at once for his parents to see.

As soon as his body touches the soft cushions of the couch, Rafe can feel his whole body aching from sleeping on the stairs. His father hands him a glass of cold water, which Rafe takes without any hesitation – his mouth is so dry, his tongue feels like it might be dead.

“Your nose is bleeding, honey,” his mother says. Rafe reaches up to his face, feeling a mix of already dried clots and liquid spewing from his right nostril.

“Must have hit it falling,” he lies. He knows is bleeding because of irritation from the cocaine, he’s always easily bled.

His mother reaches for tissues and tries to dab at Rafe’s face, but he pulls back when her fingers touch him as if he had been burned by the contact. He rips the tissue out of her hands and does it himself, while his mother sits down next to him. It’s only now that Rafe realizes she’s in a bath robe and not wearing makeup. He must have woken his parents up when he had come home.

 “Go back to bed, I’m okay,” he tries to convince them. He’s not used to them actually giving a shit about the things they had turned a blind eye towards for the last ten years.

“No, honey, it’s alright-“

“Go back to bed, Rachel,” his father interrupts. His parents have a silent conversation using their eyes before his mother gets up from the couch, stroking over Rafe’s neck and smiling slightly at him before she goes back upstairs.

“I thought you were over this,” his father says after they hear the bedroom door shut, echoing through the empty halls of the house. “You were doing well, even at work.”

Rafe doesn’t answer. He’s heard enough speeches from his father to know that interrupting him during would only prolong his tirade.

“I suppose you wanted us to find you? You would have gone to your apartment if you didn’t want us to know you were out of control.”

Rafe bites his tongue.

“You’re an adult now, Rafael. Start acting like one.”

 

It takes Rafe four years before he can think of Avery again. He goes back to Scotland, alone this time, walking through the cathedral, letting his hand glide over the walls while he searches for a clue, for _something_. But he knows if Nathan and he together couldn’t find anything, he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own.

_If only-_

Rafe stops himself from thinking about him.

He hires an archeologist instead. She doesn’t find anything either, and Rafe leaves with empty hands, again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all these lovely reviews. I appreciate them all, they make me want to continue this story. Seriously, thank you so much.

_Ebbing and flowing_  
_And pushed by a breeze_  
_I live to make you free_  
_I live to make you free_

Life takes its turn, and Rafe takes over his parents business when he turns thirty-one. He learns to like his job, especially when he hires an assistant who does all the annoying stuff for him and he only has to keep track of what’s happening, why, and how he can fix it. He travels the world, hotel room to meeting to company dinner. He loves his time in Shanghai, hates Paris (but he’s always hated France, so he’s biased), but any time there’s a lull in his travels he goes after his true passion. His house if full of antiques, many of them stored in boxes and not even looked at, just waiting to be sold to a different enthusiast who will shell out a pretty penny.

Rafe only keeps the good stuff. Things of sentimental value, like one of the earliest world maps every drawn, which he hangs above his bed. He likes looking at it, and it’s one of the first things he bought after he gave up the Avery thing.

The people who get to see his bedroom always complement it.

 

One of his oldest _‘business partners’_ contacts him, and Rafe humors him by inviting him to his house. He probably wants to convince Rafe to sponsor one of his trips to retrieve some long lost treasure _again_ , but Rafe enjoys his company enough to listen to his plight before denying him.

It’s to his surprise that his friend shows him a photograph of a Panamanian prison Rafe himself once was in, thirteen years ago. His heart almost stops when he sees of just exactly who is the subject of the photograph.

“I think he’s one of your former colleagues, right?”

“You could say that,” Rafe says breathlessly. He strokes his finger over Sam’s face, as if it somehow would disappear or transform into someone else’s if he touched it. He looks much older, but it’s undoubtedly Samuel Drake, wearing the same old, blue prison uniform he would have been wearing for the last decade.

It only takes four days and thousands of dollars before Rafe is back in Panama and watches Sam walk out the front gates of the prison, all he owns in the world stuffed into a small bag he’s slung over his shoulder.

Sam looks disappointed, as if he had hoped someone else would be waiting for him, and Rafe has no idea what to say. Instead he just pats Sam’s shoulder before they get into Rafe’s rented sports car and drive to the hotel he’s is staying in, where a room with a king sized bed and a private shower is waiting for Sam.

Rafe desperately wants to say something as he drives, but he physically can’t make his mouth form words. Sam is staring out of the window, deep in thought it seems, so silence hangs over them for the hour it takes Rafe to drive them back to downtown Panama city.

“I got you a passport, so you don’t have to worry about getting your papers,” he finally says when they’re just a few minutes away from the hotel. Sam only grunts in response, and Rafe bites his tongue. He wishes he was just a little bit better at starting conversations, at making Sam feel like everything was going to be okay, now that he’s out, but Rafe’s never been too good with that personal stuff. He knows how to turn a business deal just the way he wants to, but every intimate conversation he ever had had made him uncomfortable.

“I booked us flights to Scotland; I bought the St. Dismas Cathedral,” he says instead.

“You haven’t found anything yet?” Sam sounds confused, a little bewildered. “You’ve had over ten years.”

“I kept running into dead ends.”  Rafe grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. “It’s hard to find something if you don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

“Did Nathan come with you?”

“Yes. He didn’t find anything either.”

Rafe swallows. He doesn’t want to think about the other Drake brother, about the recognition and fame he had earned from sheer dumb luck.

“How is he?” Sam asks, carefully, is if he’s scared Rafe will bring bad news.

“Splendid. Last I heard he got a normal job and is out of the business,” Rafe answers. He doesn’t know too much about Nathan now, has always stopped talking to people once they brought him up in conversations. The memories of when the three of them worked together had been too fresh, even after a decade.

He can see Sam bite his lip out of the corner of his eye. Jealousy grows inside Rafe’s stomach, but he tries to suppress it. Of course Sam would ask about his brother first, not about him, the guy he only fucked for a few months.  It would be too much to ask that someone would actually care about _him_ once.

At the hotel, Rafe sends Sam to shower before loaning him his credit card and PIN number, so he could go into town and buy clothes, shoes, and anything else Sam might want. He stays in his room, lying on the bed for ages trying to think about nothing, the image of Sam in his prison clothes walking out of the gate and looking at him in disappointment playing out in front of his closed eyes over and over again.

_He was hoping it would have been Nathan._

_Not you._

 

They rent a small apartment in Scotland, not far in a town near the Cathedral. It’s awkward at first, the two men glancing at each other when they are sure the other isn’t looking, silence between them more often than they are talking. None of them is sure how to feel about each other after thirteen years of separation, and it feels as though they have no common ground between them anymore.

They stick to talking about the case at hand, Rafe showing him photos of the cross they had lifted out of the prison thirteen years prior. It’s the only thing he has, since Nathan had taken the cross with him after Rafe and he had parted ways, in addition to various pictures of the inside and outside of the Cathedral. They make a plan to search the Cathedral first and then the land around, and it’s the first time Rafe sees Sam smile since they were reunited.

The years locked away had not taken away from the man’s obsession with Avery’s treasure, and his interest awakens the slumbering flame inside Rafe that still wants it as well. And now, with Sam at his side, he’s closer than ever before.

 

Walking Sam through the cathedral, in addition to sleeping in an uncomfortable tent with too many animal noises for a whole week, has left Rafe tired and cranky. Sam and he have gone back to their rented holiday apartment to go over any plans Sam might have in a dry, warm environment, thank god. Rafe has problems sleeping anyway, and the fear of a wild animal attacking him in his sleep had kept him up most of the nights spent at the Saint Dismas Cathedral.

He takes a sleeping pill and gets comfortable in front of the TV while Sam takes a shower, turning on BBC as background noise while he slowly drifts off to sleep. He’s just in the state where he’s still awake but his mind slowly drifting off when a creak of the floor wakes him.

Sam is squatting in front of the couch, his face close to Rafe’s, a slight smile curving his lips upwards. His hand comes up to stroke over Rafe’s face, and Rafe closes his eyes again as Sam leans in to kiss him, the angle of their lips a little awkward.

“Sit up a bit,” Sam whispers when he pulls back. He sits down on the couch where Rafe’s head had previously been and then pulls Rafe back down, situating his head in Sam’s lap. Rafe suddenly wishes he hadn’t swallowed that pill so he could experience this moment with a clear head instead of forcing himself to not nod off.

“Go back to sleep,” Sam says when he notices Rafe’s struggle. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He wakes up in his bed, wearing only his underwear and shirt, and a look out of the window tells him it must the middle of the night, the only light outside the moon and a few dim street lamps. He turns his back to the window, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that the lump at his side is Sam, sleeping next to him. His mouth is instantly dry.

With shaking fingers, Rafe reaches out towards Sam, stroking over the man’s warm skin to make sure it isn’t just an illusion. Sam’s always been a heavy sleeper, so it comes to Rafe’s surprise when Sam immediately opens his eyes and turns his head towards Rafe.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice cracks.

“Hey.”

“I couldn’t get you to wake up on the couch, so I just brought you here. Thought I’d stay.”

Rafe nods. He wants to get closer to Sam, be held in his arms again, but he’s not sure how far he should go. Sam takes the weight of the decision off him when he scoots closer to Rafe, their limbs touching beneath the duvet. Rafe is acutely aware of his breathing, no city noises outside that drowns out the noises his body makes, his heart beating loudly.

Sam’s lips touch Rafe’s again, just as soft as earlier on the couch, but it’s all the encouragement Rafe needs to wrap his arms around Sam’s body, his hands touching Sam’s naked back. He sighs into the kiss and let’s his tongue glide into Sam’s mouth, all the bottled up yearning for Sam flowing out of him in an instant.

He pushes Sam onto his back and climbs on top of him, leaning down to kiss over the other man’s chest down to his abdomen, pressing kisses onto the bullet scars he knows are there, even if he can’t really see them in the darkness of the room. Sam’s hands come to rest on his head, grabbing his hair and pulling him back up.

“Thanks,” Sam says, but Rafe doesn’t even comprehend what he’s saying when he feels Sam’s cock against his thigh, “thanks for getting me out.”

Rafe just nods and kisses Sam again, trying to convey his desperation through the way he moves against Sam. He moans when Sam flips him over onto his back, pulls his shirt of and kisses over Rafe’s chest, his hands stroking down the sensitives sides of Rafe’s upper body. Rafe is staring straight ahead at the ceiling, still not believing that it’s happening. Sam wants him again, _too_.

They take off each other’s underwear in silence, and Sam kisses Rafe while he slides his lubed up fingers inside him. Rafe’s eyes have gotten used to the dark by now, and he can clearly see Sam’s face as he puts on a condom and pushes himself inside Rafe, their stomachs touching as Sam thrusts inside him.

Rafe holds onto Sam’s shoulders as if his life depended on him, and the physical pleasure of having sex completely escapes his mind in favor of just feeling _Sam_ , until he can feel himself getting close to orgasm, just seconds after Sam begins moaning slightly. Rafe bites his lip to try to keep himself from coming, but when Sam’s lips brush against his ear he can’t hold back anymore.

He tries to be as quiet as possible as his come spills between his and Sam’s body, but he can’t bite back the little whines that escape his throat.

“Don’t stop,” Rafe whispers when Sam tries to pull away, and he holds tightly onto the other man. “Just… Keep going.”

Sam hesitates before he lowers himself down again, his chest touching Rafe’s. He’s tender with Rafe, as if he’s scared he’ll break him in half if he would go any harder on him.

Rafe listens to the soft groans and moans that escape Sam’s mouth as he gets closer and closer to coming, stroking over Sam’s back and ass while he nibbles on Sam’s ear. When he comes, Sam stops moving and buries his head in Rafe’s neck.

The discard the condom by throwing it on the floor next to them, and Rafe almost laughs at loud at the fact that they still don’t care enough to properly clean up after having sex. Sam wipes away most of Rafe’s come with his shirt before he pulls Rafe back in his arms, their sweaty bodies sticking against each other as they get into a comfortable position with Rafe’s back towards Sam’s chest. They’ve always liked spooning, even though Rafe would have never admitted it while he was younger. Being held in Sam’s arms with the other’s lips tracing over his sensitive neck and shoulders had always taken away his sorrows before.

Right now though, it seems as if it only worsens Rafe’s anxiety over what exactly their relationship is after this.

 

They’re careful around each other.

Sam quickly realizes that Rafe does not want to talk about Nathan, that he shuts these conversations down as soon as they begin. He instead begins googling things.

The internet truly is an amazing thing nowadays.

He finds article after article about Nathan’s adventures, even finds out that he has settled down, gotten married, and started a normal life. Sam isn’t sure how he should feel about that – Avery had always been _their_ thing. Even if he’s helping Rafe now, Sam knows that sooner or later he’ll have to convince Rafe to let Nathan join back in, or at least talk to him about it.

But Rafe is staunchly against it, and Sam knows it’ll take all of his charm and skills to change Rafe’s mind on his brother.

When he’s not googling Nathan, he’s searching online for Rafe. It tells him a lot about Rafe’s business, the millions after millions Rafe makes and invests in flashy cars and designer watches. It shows him an article in an archeology magazine where Rafe talks about his passion for collecting antiques, and it’s the first time Sam feels like he’s back with the Rafe he’d known before prison, not the man who’s currently sleeping next to him in bed.

Sam looks down on Rafe’s calm body. He’s definitely trained since their time in prison, and he wears his hair differently, but other than that he still looks the same, just older. But Sam can feel it when they’re talking. There’s a distance between them, thirteen years that even the most passionate sex and loving kisses can’t overcome.

He sees it in how Rafe treats other people. The bratty side hasn’t gone away as he grew up, and Sam has to admit he’s annoyed by Rafe more often than not.

But there are those moments when Sam wants to do nothing more than take Rafe in his arms and hold him and never let him go.

When he wakes up in the morning and the first thing he does is cuddle into Sam’s arms. When they’re at the Saint Dismas Cathedral and Rafe gets frustrated so he huffs and leans his head against Sam’s shoulder.

It’s those moments that make Sam stay.

And he decides to not call Nathan, just yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once, again thank you for the overwhelmingly nice response to this fic. It really means a lot, each one of you who comments, or even just gives me kudos. You rock.
> 
> Also, shoutout to you, Christina ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_But you can set sail to the west if you want to_   
_And pass the horizon, 'til I can't even see you_   
_Far from here_   
_Where the beaches are wide_   
_Just leave me your wake to remember you by_

After months of fruitless search with Sam, Rafe decides to hire additional help in the form of Nadine Ross and her army. If even the most renowned archeologists couldn’t find anything with the help of Sam, Rafe would have to call in the big boys to finish the job.

Sam is, understandably, against it, doesn’t even try to work with Nadine once they’ve all met and moved Nadine’s army into a hotel nearby. It annoys Rafe to no end, and he argues with Sam about it at least once a day.

It doesn’t help their relationship that Sam keeps bringing up Nathan, and how much easier it would be if they added him back into the mix.

Their time alone is filled with bickering about the direction their search is taking, interrupted by short moments of intimacy when they take a day off from the treasure. It is as if they have two entirely different modes with each other now – business and _partners_. Whereby the business part overshadows how they interact when they’re alone together in Rafe’s hotel room, the only place in the world where they’re at least a little like _before_.

They’re not madly in love anymore. Hell, there is barely a liking each other outside of being civil to each other anymore, after over a year of being frustrated with each other.

Rafe doesn’t let Sam out of his sight, even keeping the other man’s passport in the safe in Rafe’s hotel room. Too big is the fear the other man would run off the first chance he got, and Rafe would be left alone to find Avery’s treasure once again. But it seems the tighter Rafe holds onto Sam, the more Sam wants to break out of his grasps.

Logically, Rafe can understand Sam. The man had spent thirteen years in prison, devoid of freedom – hell, if it had been Rafe, he would have run as fast and as far he could once outside the gates of the prison. But empathy had never been Rafe’s strong point, and the thought of Sam choosing virtually anything over being with him makes rage grow inside of Rafe to the point of boiling over, and it leaves Rafe screaming in the shower and throwing his pillows around the room when the curtains are closed and nobody’s there.

If he’s being honest with himself, Rafe had hoped that they wouldn’t feel the thirteen years of separation. The Sam and he would still be the same men they were when they got separated – madly in love and not able to keep their hands off each other.

Instead, there hadn’t even been a hug between them that hadn’t felt forced ever since Nadine had come into the mix.

Rafe would be lying if he said the distance between him and Sam didn’t bother him. He finds himself in a jealous rage the first time when he sees a woman walk out of Sam’s hotel room late at night, her hair and clothes rumpled and her lips kiss swollen. It takes everything in him not to grab her and choke her until her lips turn white and her eyes lifeless, until she stops struggling and goes limp in his hands.

Instead he storms into his own room and grabs the floor lamp that stands in the corner, smashes it into the ground until the top part breaks off and the metal stand bends in an almost ninety degree angle. He throws it back in its corner before storming into the bathroom, ripping off his clothes before jumping in the shower and turning on the cold water. Rafe catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror, an ugly vein prominent on his forehead and his cheeks flushed a deep pink. He hates how much influence Sam has on his body and mind without even knowing or caring about it.

It takes almost five full minutes until Rafe’s heart beat goes back to normal and his fists unclench. By the time he’s calmed down, goosebumps are spread all over his body from the ice cold water splashing down from above, and he’s beginning to shiver. He quickly adjusts the water to a more enjoyable temperature and finishes his shower, using the shampoo and shower lotion the hotel provides even though it’s akin to an assault on his nostrils and sensitive skin.

He thinks about shaving once he steps out of the shower cabin, but he doesn’t trust his hands to be steady enough to not cut his face and throat open. Instead he just wraps a towel around his waist after drying off and stares at his reflection in the mirror, noticing each freckle, the scar on his forehead, each imperfection on his smooth skin. His lips are chapped from the cold Atlantic air and his stubble is getting too long for his liking, but other than that, taking care of his body and one or two short trips to a surgeon had kept him looking youthful and _handsome_. The same can’t be said for Samuel, Rafe thinks and one side of his mouth curves upwards into a smile. The older Drake looked even more rugged and _ghetto_ than ever before, with a tattoo on his neck Rafe had almost laughed at when he saw it for the first time.

Birds, really? Rafe can appreciate a good metaphor, but Sam had reached for the most obvious symbol of freedom there is.

His thoughts are interrupted when there’s a knock on his hotel room door, three loud taps, and Rafe knows its Nadine, doesn’t even have to ask. She’d be the only one knocking on his door.

“What do you want?” He asks when he opens the door. Nadine takes a look at his almost naked body before she composes herself.

“I’ll come back later.”

“No, please, I’ve got nothing to do anyway.” Rafe steps aside to let her into the room, which she does after hesitating for just a second.

“I’ve given my men permission to search beyond the cathedral.” She explains after stepping into the room and leaning against the desk Rafe’s laptop is sitting on.

“Why would you? If there is even anything to find, it’ll be there,” Rafe says exasperated, sick of Nadine giving her men orders before consulting with him first. “I’m paying you to do what I want, not what you think is right.”

“If you want something found, you actually have to go and search it, Rafe,” Nadine presses out between her lips, her arms crossed in front of her. “You can’t just spend all your time pining after Drake and prolonging your time here so he has to stay, too.”

“I’m not pining after him!” Rafe shouts, taking a few steps closer to Nadine, trapping her between the table and his body. She leans back and holds herself steady with her hands on the table, not breaking eye contact.

The tension between them is broken when Rafe leans down to press their lips together, Nadine readily melting into the kiss. Rafe lifts her up on the table and doesn’t waste any time ripping her clothes off while she gets rid of the towel bound around Rafe’s hip, her hands finding his dick straight away. Rafe groans and pushes her until her back lies flat on the table, which gives him enough space to take off her shoes, socks, pants, and underwear, until she’s fully naked in front of him.

Rafe’s not concerned about her enough to give her the benefit of a bit of foreplay, instead he just spits in his hand before stroking his cock a few times until he’s hard, thrusting into Nadine who bites her teeth together at the rough intrusion.

It’s not romantic, it’s nothing special – fuck, it’s not even enjoyable beyond the basic sensation of having sex with someone. Rafe watches as Nadine starts rubbing her clit after she figures out that Rafe’s not going to bother getting her off.

He does her the favor of not coming inside her, instead pulling out and jacking himself off until come spills onto her abdomen, pooling in her navel and making her dark skin glisten. Rafe doesn’t look at her too long, regret already taking over his thoughts.

It’s the least satisfying orgasm Rafe has ever had in his life, and he knows it’s because Sam is right here, a few rooms down the hall, and Rafe would rather be with him over anyone else in the world.

He can hear Nadine cleaning herself off behind him, and he locks himself in the bathroom to avoid a confrontation, only coming out when he hears the door open and close behind her.

God, he might have really fucked up big, this time.

 

Finding out that there is more than one Saint Dismas cross is a major breakthrough in their case, and the last straw Sam needs to decide to leave. He has all the information he needs so Nathan and he can find Avery’s treasure together, without a third party intervening in _their_ destiny.

Rafe’s mood betters the days following their discovery, and he tries his best to mend over the fissures in Sam’s and his relationship. He kisses Sam awake in the morning, going down on him and trying to be as caring as he possibly can, even though he cringes at himself when he massages Sam’s shoulders as he’s smoking outside on the balcony. The ash tray is full of cigarette buds, and Rafe wonders what has Sam this worked up. He only smokes that much when he’s excited or worried about something.

Rafe decides to chalk it up to nerves about finding the second cross.

He decides to blind in favor of momentary happinesss.

But Sam doesn’t like the man Rafe has become.

He’s always been on the spectrum of some kind of psychological disorder, and Sam had known that from the moment they had first met, but back then it seemed more like affluenza than anything worse. Now, Sam sees a sociopath whenever he looks at Rafe.

And Sam does not want the obsession of a sociopath in his life.

He unlocks the safe and gathers his passport (Rafe has gotten slack around him, not caring if Sam is watching him type in various combinations), writes down Nathan’s address and books a flight back to the States with Rafe’s credit card when Rafe is sleeping, unlocking the other man’s phone and deleting the confirmation emails as soon as they’re coming into his account. He’s almost caught when Rafe wakes up and reaches out for him, and Sam gets back into bed quietly, cuddling behind him and letting his hands wander over Rafe’s chest and stomach. He needs Rafe to go back to sleep so Sam can leave the hotel room at four in the morning.

“Why are you still up?” Rafe whispers after he takes a look at the clock on his phone. 1:27 am.

“Couldn’t relax,” Sam answers, and presses a kiss to Rafe’s neck. “Go back to sleep.”

Rafe turns in his arms, breathing out heavily against Sam’s shirt, letting his hands run under the soft fabric. It’s one of the shirt’s he bought for Sam, he knows without having to even look at it. It’s too a high quality for anything Sam would buy for himself.

“I can make you relax,” Rafe whispers and pushes Sam onto his back, climbing on top of him. He’s still a little sleepy, his movements sluggish as he leans down and presses their lips together.

“In just a few days we’ll be in Italy,” Rafe says as he leans back for enough to help Sam out of his shirt, “we can visit Rome after we’re done at the auction.”

“I’ve never been there,” Sam mentions, “it’ll be fun.” He’s glad it’s so dark. He’s sure Rafe would be able to see that he’s lying.

They get undressed, and Rafe kisses Sam like he’s starving for it. He had dreamt about the other man, dreamt about them lying together in bed like this, but they hadn’t been in Scotland. Rafe hadn’t recognized where they were until he had woken up, remembered the huge glass windows of his old apartment and the first time he’s had sex with Sam.

He remembers their time so clearly and yet is seems to him as if it’s impossible that his memories ever actually took place.

With experienced fingers, Sam opens him up and it doesn’t take long until Rafe is sliding down onto Sam’s cock, his legs on either side of Sam’s body, rocking back and forth. He was aroused by his dream already, his cock hard long before Sam had started touching him, and he can’t stop himself from moaning and sighing every time Sam moves his hips slightly up, meeting  the movements of his body. His arms are holding Rafe’s hips, pushing and pulling just how Sam wants him to, and Rafe can swear it’s hard enough he’ll be able to see the outline of Sam’s fingers on his skin tomorrow. Marked, until the bruises will fade away and leave only sensitive skin.

“Sam,” Rafe sighs when the other man touches his cock, stroking him until Rafe is a quivering mess above him, his legs close to giving out. The only thing that’s still holding him up is Sam’s grip on his body and his hands on Sam’s chest as he begins to fuck into him from below, close to coming, Rafe knows.

He comes just before Sam does, with a shudder and a strangled moan, letting himself fall forward onto Sam’s body, who wraps his arms around his back and holds him close until he comes inside Rafe.

They’ve gotten good at cleaning up after sex. It only takes them a few seconds before Rafe is back in Sam’s arms, breathing in the smell of sweat and sex, his forehead leaned against Sam’s chest.

He thinks that maybe he should say something sappy, but his tongue feels heavy in his mouth, so he decides to not say anything.

 

The dream from before continues after Rafe falls asleep again, but this time there’s no Sam. He’s back in his old apartment, and for some reason his father is there, holding up a tiny, clear plastic bag with white powder.

Rafe is sixteen again and has to explain himself, that it’s not his, that he’s never done drugs. He doesn’t even sound sincere to his own, dreaming brain.

 

When Rafe wakes up the next morning, he knows Sam is gone.

There’s no slight snoring sound coming from his right, the duvet isn’t pushed down towards the end of the bed, and there is nobody next to him radiating off heat like it wasn’t autumn _in Scotland_.

He walks out onto the balcony in just his bathrobe, his heart beating fast and every fiber in his body clinging onto the thought that Sam might have just walked out to have a smoke, but it’s just as empty out here as it is in the hotel room. There’s a stubbed out cigarette on the railing, and for a second Rafe thinks about touching it, hoping it was still hot and Sam was just in the shower, but he brushes it off the railing instead.

He tries to not see it as a metaphor as to how Sam treated him.

He cancels the hotel reservations at the Marriott in Rome and changes his flight back to the US to the same one as Nadine will take. It’s easier to pretend not to feel anything instead of confronting the confusing feelings taking over his mind, pushes them away in favor of keeping a clear head and thinking about Avery’s cross.

The first one is safely stored away in his safe back in Seattle. He’s taken it out a few times over the years, let his fingers travel of the wood and the silver and golden inlay, wondered how it would have all turned out if it hadn’t been hollow.

It probably wouldn’t have changed a goddamn thing. But Rafe still likes to wonder.

When he sees the purple coloring on his hips in the shape of Sam’s fingers, Rafe tentatively touches them just this once before showering and putting on a shirt.

It won’t take long for them to disappear.

He’s sure of that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anybody still excited for this idk

Sam's absence hits Rafe less than he thought it would. He's busy; there's no time to mope around when he's flying to Italy, his nerves humming. He's on the edge the entire time, hoping that nobody would challenge him in his bid on the cross; but who would? Nobody else knows that it's worth more than any of the people in the auction will own in their entire life.

The only time Sam comes to his mind is when he's in bed, trying to fall asleep but unable to. He doesn't want to be dependent on sleeping pills again, so he lies awake until the wee hours of the morning, his head spinning, trying to figure out where they went wrong. Where he went wrong. It seems to him as though they had been alright until the end; sure, he hadn't been happy about Sam sleeping with that woman, but he never mentioned it. He just made sure that it never happened again.

Maybe he had been to clingy. He hadn't let Sam out of his sight once, had forced him to sleep in the same bed with him even if they had been fighting. He had clung to Sam during the night so he would know if the other man moved.

Except that last night, when Sam showed him some affection that made Rafe believe that, _maybe_ , after they find the treasure their ways wouldn't split again. That Sam wouldn't run off to Nathan the first chance he got.

Rafe shakes his head and turns to his other side in the lowered business class seat of the plane. He's never been good at falling asleep on planes; the constant humming of the engines and the fact that so many people are around him keeps him from relaxing to a point where he can let his guards down low enough to close his eyes for longer than five minutes. He'd taken his own plane, but it's not big enough to fly directly to Italy; he only ever uses it for domestic flights.

He opens his eyes when he can feel a hand on his shoulder.

It's Nadine, sitting next to him, a blanket spread over her lap to shield her from the cold air in the plane.

Nadine. The replacement in his bed when he can't fall asleep, who manages to make him feel the empty space Sam had left behind more, and less at the same time. She still doesn't know about them, and if she does, she doesn't mention it. It's not like Rafe had tried to hide from her, but by the time she had come into the mix their relationship had been crumbling, strangled to death by the choke hold Rafe was putting on it. The only time Sam had touched him in those last few months was when Rafe had _forced_ him to, had kissed Sam until the other man gave in and fucked him, without feelings, without any sounds or touches that weren't necessary.

Maybe he isn't over it. But he's good at pretending.

He called her by his name once, if he remembers that night correctly. But he'd been drunk, and his eyes had been closed, with her between his legs. It still hadn't been the same.

“We'll land in about an hour. Going to sleep won't be worth it now,” Nadine says as Rafe takes out the earplugs that had been provided by the airline. He sighs and tosses them in the little trash bag before raising up his seat into a sitting position, pulling the blanket tight around himself. He's so fucking cold; even the business class duvet doesn't help. He doesn't understand how Nadine can sit next to him in a tank top and not freeze to death, while he had to hold his hand to his nose to not risk it getting so cold it would shatter at the first touch.

“Rome, here we come,” Rafe mumbles, the sighs. They have another flight that will bring them closer to where the auction takes place, a place in northern Italy his father had taken him and his mother for vacation before. He had liked it there, as a child. He could play in the sand and take a swim, not worry about school or his piano lessons for a few days while his parents were out, drinking wine and meeting with old friends they had made in the region before he was born.

He remembers a boy he used to play with – they couldn't talk, because Rafe didn't speak Italian and they were still too young for the other boy to have learned English yet.

Marco, Rafe remembers. His mother had yelled his name every night when she wanted him to come back into the house, while Rafe still sat outside, waiting for his parents to come back to their vacation house.

He came back as a teenager, but Marco wasn't there anymore. Rafe also didn't play on the beach anymore, instead spent his time with the local boys, drinking shit wine and landing in bed with a different one each night. That was the last time his father took him on vacation, the first time Rafe had not tried to hide what he was doing with other men behind closed doors.

He might have done it mostly for shock value back then, to make his parents pay attention. But the thing he had with Sam was never for those reasons. Nobody had ever found out about it, if Sullivan had kept his mouth shut for the last fifteen years.

Rafe is almost tempted to ask the man when he sees him at the auction.

They've never seen eye to eye, but they at least treat each other with respect until Sullivan denies being here for the cross – and Rafe isn't stupid, he knows there's no reason for the both of them to meet at this place if it wasn't for the cross. There's no sign of Nathan, no sign of _Sam_ , and maybe Sullivan is just after it alone, this time.

That old geyser always was after making a quick buck or two, but when it comes to having the money for the cross right now, Rafe could outbid just about anybody in the room. He isn't worried about Victor.

He's not even worried when the lights go out – no, his panic starts when it goes back on and the cross is gone, together with Victor, making his escape with Rafe not being able to follow him. The one step he made towards Avery's treasure, gone, because he trusted Victor enough to not play dirty. Rafe throws down the sign with his number for the auction on it, the sound echoing through the hall as he stomps outside to the car he rented.

 

It's only when he's outside that he realizes he should probably wait for Nadine. He doesn't need to play his chances with her.

He leans against the car, his hands shaking in anger and his heart beating in his throat. He craves a cigarette, having picked up a bit of a habit in the months he spent with Sam again, even though he had stopped smoking in his early twenties. It just didn't give him enough of a high to resonate with constantly smelling like shit. He still had to prove himself as a business man just as capable as his father back then; he couldn't allow himself one mistake, however small it might seem.

He guesses Sam had it a lot easier. There was no guilt of disappointing an employer if you're constantly unemployed, Rafe thinks bitterly.

Rafe swears and gets into his car when he hears gunfire from inside the house. Nadine still hasn't shown up yet, and he has half the mind to just take off and leave her be. When she finally does show up, she's sweaty and carrying her heels in her hand, walking towards their car.

“Took you long enough, what the hell happened?” Rafe asks when she gets into the passenger seat, throwing her shoes into the back.

“Drake, the younger one,” she replies, her tone biting. “He has the cross.”

“Nate? Nate was here?” Rafe asks. So Sullivan isn't after the treasure on his own; if Nathan's involved, Sam is too. Rafe's hands begin to sweat as he grips the steering wheel and drives them away from the estate, back to their hotel. He wonders how he could have missed both of them, Nathan and Sam, at the auction, but he guesses Sam had warned Nate that he would be there. They've always been closer to each other than he had been to either of them, it shouldn't shock them that they teamed up against him.

It doesn't make it hurt any less.

Rafe spends the night alone, too upset to be in the same room as Nadine. He buys a packet of cigarettes and sits on his balcony, smoking about half of the packet before retreating back inside, taking a cold shower and getting into bed. He would have loved a glass of wine (or an entire bottle, more like), but he's not feeling sociable enough to even call the front desk and order one to his room. He doesn't want to see anybody.

Sam and Nathan must sit with Victor and examine the cross right now, while he's here, stuck in limbo again, like he has been for the last fifteen years. He hopes to god this one is as hollow as the one they found in Panama all those years ago.

He has a dream about Sam again, that night.

When he wakes up in the morning he only remembers the smell of Sam's cologne mixed with the staleness of cigarette smoke on denim, and he blames it on the fact that his mouth tastes like he licked clean an ash tray.

Back in Scotland, Rafe let's Nadine pull out the big guns. She starts dismantling the cathedral step by step, and Rafe's heart sinks when he sees the building he spent so much of the last ten years in slowly fall apart. But he knows the Drake's won't take their time with this, will find a clue sooner or later, and Rafe has to be a step ahead of them – whatever secret the cathedral hides from them, he has to find it _now_.

The day the Drake's appear, Nadine's army loses good men. She's distraught over it, he can tell, but she tries her best to hide it in front of him, wanting to appear like the woman Rafe had hired – ruthless, a fighter. He tries his best to hide his feelings as well, doesn't ask how Sam looked when she saw him, if he was well. In fact, he suppresses his feelings so well, he almost makes himself believe he's not yearning for Sam to come back, tell him that they can partner up again, leave Nathan behind now that Sam has it out of his system.

It's their treasure to find; Nathan had never been a fan of Rafe joining them. He didn't want it as much has them, gave up on finding a clue in Scotland after just a few weeks to turn to other, more lucrative jobs. Nathan was never after Avery's treasure; he was along for the ride to appease Sam, who has been obsessed with it to the point where there was nothing else he could talk about, just before they had entered the prison in Panama. Those last few conversations between them back then, always only about business, might be one of the biggest regrets Rafe has in his life. He had Sam right where he wanted him, eating out of the palm of his hand, and he wasted it on the pipe dream of finding a long lost pirate treasure.

Rafe still has his phone number, he notices that evening as he's getting into bed, alone again. It's a British number, and Sam was probably smart enough to leave his SIM card behind somewhere, but in a moment of weakness Rafe presses call.

It doesn't even ring before it tells him that the number has been disconnected, and Rafe quickly hangs up, ashamed, and tosses his phone on the night stand of his trailer. He worries his lip between his teeth, biting at the skin until all the chapped bits are off and his lips feel raw, reminding him of the way they felt whenever he blew Sam. He presses his face into the pillow, trying to get the memories of lying in bed with Sam out of his mind, all the time Rafe demeaned himself for the other man, getting on his knees and begging Sam for a modicum of attention.

The spark of resentment Rafe has felt ever since Sam left seems to grow with every day, overshadowing the constant ache for him.

And if that's how Rafe's going to get over it, he's prepared to hate Sam.

 

He calls Nathan with his proposition of leaving it all behind, listening as the other man mocks him over the phone before dropping the bomb on him; that Rafe had known where he was all along, only let him do the dirty work so Rafe doesn't have to do it himself. Nadine's men have permission to kill both Nathan and Sullivan, but Rafe made sure to stress that he wanted Sam alive; if it has to end like this, Rafe wants himself to be the one to do it. Maybe he can make Sam beg for forgiveness, like Rafe had so often begged, both physically and verbally, in the quiet of their hotel room, with nobody else around. There is so much Sam knows about him that Rafe doesn't need to outside world to know; not just his body and the places that, when touched, drive Rafe insane, but the way his brain works. He could trust Sullivan to keep their secret for fifteen years, but Rafe doesn't have high hopes of Sam not selling him out the first chance he gets.

All is fair in love and war, after all.

He looks through the photos Nate had sent Sam that night in his hotel room, triangulating the location of the island off the coast of Madagascar and sending Nadine to rent them boats. He has Sam's phone number now, could call him and make him the same offer he had given Nate just a few hours ago, but he refuses to repeat himself.

 

Nadine comes back in time for dinner, having cleared the boats they're going to use to get to the island tomorrow. She isn't happy about what's happening anymore, Rafe knows. He hasn't been paying attention to her ever since he had gotten _so close_ to Sam again, in the same country, the same city even. But now that she's in front of him he can see that she mourns the death of so many of her men, dying by the hand of only two brothers. Two brothers and her employer, who are all dead set on proofing themselves by competing with each other.

“Do you have any idea where you're going?” Nadine asks when she sees the map spread out on Rafe's desk in his hotel room, lines drawn and pins stuck into it from where Rafe tried to figure out the exact location of the island.

“Of course. I didn't spend hours over this to come away with nothing.”

“Wouldn't be the first time you wasted your time,” Nadine replies, and it feels like a slap to Rafe's cheek. She's been criticizing him since Scotland, since things started to not go her way anymore. Since he stopped fucking her.

“Well, then be glad I _actually_ did find something,” Rafe hisses, pointing at an area on the map that's surrounded by pins and red string. “Here.”

Nadine takes a look at it, letting her finger run over the area, before she steps back and crosses her arms. Rafe leans against at the table as well, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. There's no way she'll admit that she's impressed; they're not close enough for compliments, anymore.

“We're leaving in the afternoon. My men have earned a good night's sleep.”

“We can't leave too late!” Rafe says, huffing and raising his arms in frustration, “they're going to get there before is if we take out time!”

“Then you can leave without them,” Nadine replies, her voice harsh. “We've agreed on partners, Rafe. You're not the one who gets to decide on every detail.”

Rafe doesn't look after her as she leaves his hotel room, crossing his arms and staring at the carpet until he hears the door shut. He turns back to his map, the urge to throw it on the floor and stomp on it almost overcoming him, but he doesn't want to end up doing all his work again. Instead he grabs for the telephone and brings it down hard on the edge of the table, until it shatters in his hand, sharp pieces of plastic flying everywhere. He bites his lip and throws it across the room. It hits the wall and breaks even more, but Rafe already has his back turned towards it and walks into the shower, turning on the cold water and stepping in with all his clothes still on. They're not expensive or fancy anyway, something he picked up while he was bored and online shopping – hell, he wouldn't even care if he was wearing his Brioni suit which he only put on once in a blue moon when meeting potential business partners.

 

He wonders how his assistant is holding up, now that he's been gone for so long. He'd put one of his most trusted partners as his replacement while he's gone, but he knows his assistant doesn't like him, can't work with him as well as she did with Rafe.

He forces himself to forget about business as he peels off his soaked clothes and throws them into a corner of the shower, staring at the pile of black fabric for a few seconds. He should really buy some new colors, but he's always felt most comfortable in black. He saves the few flashy items he collected over the years for special occasions.

Out of the shower, he checks in on Sullivan's and Sam's phones again (not Nathan's, never Nathan's because the man is too old school to own anything more than a shitty flip phone) but there's no movement on them – they must have destroyed them when they found out that Rafe was tracking them. He scrolls through text messages they had sent in the short time Rafe had access to their phones, but there isn't much interesting stuff to find. A few short text messages between Nathan and Sam are the most exciting thing, and they are only about what to eat for dinner that day.

Rafe can't bring himself to listen to the phone calls between Nathan and his wife after the first one he had accidentally overheard. It felt too intimate, and the woman had nothing to do with this, yet. Rafe hopes she's smart enough to stay out of it, that she'll keep on buying Nathan's lie about some sort of job in Malaysia she thinks he's on.

They don't need to add more pawns to the game.

 

They leave late next day, just after noon, and Rafe is brimming with anger at the fact that Nadine was serious about letting her men sleep in. She shouldn't have that amount of power, Rafe concludes, and talks to Knot and Orca, her most trusted men, when she's away. After the promise of a sizable amount of money, he's promised to be the one in charge again. He'll keep Nadine in the dark about it until the situation calls for it, he decides. There's no need to tell her.

There's a storm brewing, and Rafe lets Nadine's men chase after Nathan and Sam's boat while he stays safely on the biggest boat, trying not to get sea sick from the constant, irritable movement of the water. They search the shore for a sign of live from either of the Drake's but there's nothing but a bit of gear that was washed ashore. He doesn't have enough faith in Nadine's men to believe that they had just drowned, and braces himself for a reunion somewhere on the island. It's taken them long enough to see each other face to face again, and Rafe is getting antsy. He needs to find a way to separate them, to keep Sam on his side while leaving Nathan behind, even though it might be a fruitless battle. They've always worked better together alone than with Rafe in the mix.

It takes them the whole night to find the ruins of Libertalia. Nadine is fed up with him, and Rafe is fed up with the whole situation. He's taken to being as far away from her as possible, always keeping her men between them, using them as messenger pigeons when he needs to clear something with Nadine.

Nathan and Sam are alive, of course, wreaking havoc and killing practically half of Nadine's remaining men by the time they find themselves face to face. They both look worse for wear, dirty and tired, and Rafe makes a show out of exposing Sam's lie and rubbing his former partnership with Sam under Nathan's nose. He enjoys hurting Sam, pistol whipping him and kicking his face while the other man can do nothing about it or he'll die – god, it feels good to be the in _control_ , to finally get his revenge on Sam. He wants to do more to Sam, see him suffer and break down like Rafe had internally when he had left Scotland without as much as a note, even.

So he decides he best way to get back at him is to kill his brother. The reason why Sam had left in the first place. He cocks his gun and aims for Nate.

“ _I only need Sam.”_

His reaction is too slow when Sam jumps in front of Nathan, his finger already pulling the trigger even when he sees that he'll hit Sam instead. With a quick motion Rafe aims the gun down and to the right, hitting Sam's arm instead of something live threatening. He can't tell if the bullet only grazed Sam's shoulder or if it actually hit him, because Sam turns around to where Nathan is _falling_ , off the cliff and _shit_ , that's not what Rafe intended. One shot, one clean shot between his eyes, a way to confirm that Nathan, the legend, was dead was all he needed.

“Hold him!” Rafe orders the mercenaries, and they grab Sam before he has the chance to jump after his brother. Rafe swears under his breath, and he can feel Nadine's eyes on him, judging him for taking so long and missing his chance to let this all _end_. He doesn't turn towards her, pretends he doesn't notice her gaze and walks over to Sam, suppressing the urge to hit him again for being so stupid he'd jump in front of a bullet for his piece of shit of a brother.

Rafe's steps are unsteady as he stops to stand in front of Sam, but he doesn't even know what to say to the man. He's not sorry for what he'd done, only sorry that Nathan's dead body isn't lying between them on the ground, his blood pooling at their feet. So he just shakes his head at Sam, motioning to the soldiers to follow him away from the cliff side and towards where they had come from. Sam would know where they had to go next.

When they arrive New Devon, Sam looks pale and weak. The wound on his shoulder is still bleeding, but Rafe knows the bullet barely touched him – he's ashamed to say he's glad about that. Sam would lose some blood, but it was by no means life threatening if treated.

“Sit down,” Rafe orders, pushing Sam down onto the steps in front of one of the houses, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to examine where Rafe's bullet had grazed his arm. It looks nasty – Sam's flesh parted by the bullet and blood oozing out of the wound faster than Sam's shirt can soak it up. Rafe's never been shot himself, but he's shot people before, straight on, in the head, like he wanted to shoot Nathan. Never had he had to deal with patching up a wound, but he tries his best as he wipes away some of the blood with tissues before pressing on a compress.

“You shouldn't have jumped in front of the bullet,” Rafe says, trying to keep his voice calm. His heart is still beating a mile a minute from the shock of hitting Sam instead of Nathan, his fingers stiff and his hands shaking as he tries to hold the bandage tightly against Sam's arm.

“What, and let you kill him?” Sam lets out a humorless laugh. “Sure.”

“He's dead now anyway, isn't he? Does it make a difference?”

The punch to his face comes so fast he doesn't even realize what's happened until he's lying on the ground, falling down a few steps. Sam stands up and gets on top of him, and Rafe doesn't even fight back as he wraps one hand around Rafe's throat, squeezing tightly. He draws back the other hand to punch Rafe again, but one of Nadine's soldiers pulls Sam off him and throws him into the ground, pressing his rifle between Sam's shoulder blades. Rafe clears his throat and picks up the bandage he had let drop, shooing away the soldier with a motion of his hand.

“Just keep an eye on him,” Rafe says and the soldier nods, walking away a few steps to give Rafe and Sam some privacy. The other man is slowly getting off the ground, brushing gravel off his hands against his pants. Rafe can see some blood on them, but he's not sure if it's new or from the wound on his arm.

“Now, don't try anything stupid again,” Rafe says as he sits back down next to Sam. The compress is too dirty now that it's been on the ground, so Rafe just folds up a bit of the bandage and presses it against the wound, slowly wrapping the rest of it around Sam's arm.

“He's not dead,” Sam says as Rafe finishes up.

“A fall off that cliff? If he's not dead from hitting the water, he'll drown.”

Sam stares straight on, as Rafe studies his face from the side. There are a few cuts and bruises Nadine had left him with, the big one on his lip from where Rafe had hit him with the gun. It had felt so satisfying, making Sam moan out in pain, curling around himself as Rafe's boot connected with his stomach. The feeling didn't last long though, as Rafe feels as empty now as he had before.

“So, where are we going?” Rafe asks after sitting in silence a while, catching Nadine's impatient glance in their direction.

“Why would I help you?”

“Because I'm the one with the gun.”

“You wouldn't shoot me,” Sam states, no uncertainty in his voice. “You've had so many chances, you didn't use any of them.”

“No, I wouldn't,” Rafe admits leaning back on his arms, tilting his face into the sun and closing his eyes, “but they would. Nadine would. She's never liked you.”

“Hard to like the guy who fucked the man you wanted to yourself.”

“She never knew about that.”

Sam laughs at that, and Rafe opens his eyes at the genuine noise. Sam is grinning, his skin glowing from the shine of the sun and he looks younger and more relaxed than he ever had during the two years they spent together. The thrill of the hunt, Rafe guesses. Sam had always wanted the treasure as much as him, if not more at the beginning.

“Everyone knew, Rafe,” Sam says after a while. “You're not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Nathan never knew,” Rafe says, his stomach sinking.

“No,” Sam agrees, “but even he knows you're not as straight as you like to pretend you are.”

 

Rafe gets up, rage growing inside his chest. He doesn't need to listen to Sam talk about this – Rafe has his reasons for keeping his personal life under wraps, and people like Nathan, who had never amounted to anything his life that didn't contain thievery and murder, don't get the privilege of gossiping about the decisions he's made.

“To imagine what he'd think if you if he ever found out,” Rafe practically spits as he stands up, raising his gun at Sam at nodding his head at the door in front of them, to Avery's house. “You've had enough time to relax, get to work.”

Sam scoffs but stands up, and Rafe can't keep himself from pushing him, showing who's in charge. This all could have been avoided had Nathan taken his advice of staying away, if Sam had never been as stupid as to run away from him. Rafe swallows hard as he follows Sam inside, letting his eyes wander over the once grand halls of Avery's mansion. It reminds him a lot of his childhood home, if he's being honest; his parents always had a taste for the same brand of grandeur Avery was after.

 

“The clue must be in here, somewhere,” Sam says, pacing up and down what was once Avery's study, “I know it has to be here.”

“Then find it,” Rafe says, exasperated. He's sick of Sam's theatrics; he probably knows exactly what he has to do, is just biding time to give Nathan a head start on finding them. He's heard about Nathan being alive over the walkie-talkie, heard about a blonde woman with him who must be his wife, finally coming to see her husband’s lie for herself. If that's what marriage is like, Rafe is glad he never had the ludicrous idea to legally bind himself to another person.

“Look at this,” Sam whispers, and Rafe looks up. Sam is smiling down at a piece of paper he's holding in his hands, carefully unfolding it. It's been a while since Rafe saw him that happy, the genuine smile on his lips a welcome break from the frowning he's gotten to intimately know for the last few months they were together in Scotland.

“What's that?” Rafe asks, stepping next to Sam, their shoulders touching. He feels like he should take a step away, bring some distance between Sam and himself, but he stays when Sam makes no movements of his own.

“Avery's map of the island,” Sam puts his finger on a point on the map, “and that's where my treasure is.”

“Our treasure,” Rafe corrects him looking up at Sam. The other man doesn't say anything, only looks down at Rafe, no emotion in his expression, and Rafe wants nothing more than to lean up and bring their lips together.

“I-” Sam begins, but Rafe shakes his head.

“I don't want to hear it.”

“Rafe-”

“Sam,” he steps away and turns towards Sam, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “There's nothing you can say to me that would change anything.”

“It was Nathan's right to come find it with me, and I know you would have never let me go,” Sam says anyway, as Rafe turns his back to him and starts pacing up and down the room. “What did you expect me to do?”

“I thought we could see this through together, and then you could fuck off to find him!” Rafe yells, turning on his heels. He wishes he was taller, that he didn't have to look up at Sam every time they fought. “I was counting on you, _I got you out of prison_ , and you screwed me over.”

Sam is silent, and Rafe takes it that he has won that argument. A year ago Sam would have fought with until they were both hoarse and had nothing left to say, but there's nothing left between them already – it's just _broken_. It hurts, Rafe realizes. It hurts looking at the man he was so wrapped up in he sometimes couldn't tell his own personality from Sam's – and seeing what was practically a stranger.

Rafe swallows hard, his throat closing up.

Sam walks over to him and Rafe practically jumps out of his skin when he gets wrapped up in his arms, his face pressed against Sam's chest. He smells of sweat and dirt, and Rafe is sure that there's still blood running down his arm from where he had only halfheartedly patched him up after Sam attacked him. Rafe doesn't put his arms around him, keeps them pressed between their bodies, keeping a barrier between them even when they're this close. He swallows hard again, biting down on his lip when he feels his eyes starting to burn. He can't help it – the last time he had felt Sam like this was the night before he left.

“This should have all gone differently,” Sam whispers, but doesn't offer an explanation as to how he thought it would all turn out. _What were you thinking_ , Rafe wants to ask, _did you think I'd just give up and let you and Nathan get all the glory?_

He doesn't though, pushes Sam away after a few seconds and goes to stand on the other side of the room, looking out of the window, partially covered by overgrown vegetation. He hears Sam start to rummage around the room again, trying to find his clue, and after a few seconds of schooling his expression into a neutral one, Rafe starts walking around the room as well. He lets his hand wander over a globe, spinning it to where they are now, the tiny dot that is Madagascar, and a little north east– his heart stops in his chest when there's a loud sound behind him, and he pulls his gun, scared that Sam is coming for him using some weapon he had found in the room. Instead it's the ground next to the globe, opening up and revealing a secret staircase that leads down into the ground. Rafe is amazed that the mechanism is still intact after hundreds of years.

“What did you do?” Sam asks, bewildered.

“I just... spun the globe.”

“Huh,” Sam looks at it with a calculating gaze, “could have gotten that myself.”

“Could you?” Rafe asks, unimpressed. He walks out the room to call in the rest of Nadine's army and the woman herself, and Sam leads them down into Avery's secret entrance. Rafe walks closely behind him, the safety of his gun off, and he's absolutely content with shooting Sam in the leg if he tries to run.

He doesn't though, leads them through the cave system for what it feels like ages, and Rafe swears they're going in circles, that Sam is just biding time again for Nathan to catch up to them. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't notice when Sam picks up the pace, easily walking twenty feet in front of him and the rest of Nadine's army, when he begins running, Rafe cocks his gun and aims for him, but an explosion to his right knocks him off his feet.

He meets the ground hard, hitting his head and hurting his shoulder. When he tries to sit up his ears are ringing, and what little he can see through the smoke in the air seems to have doubled in front of his eyes. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. At least his vision has cleared now, even though there's a dull ache in his skull. He curses Sam, curses the intimate moment in Avery's study that had made Rafe give him the benefit of the doubt, once again. And once again he's lying here, Sam running off alone, leaving him behind.

“Nadine?” he calls out, looking around to find her. Some of her men are dead, on the ground, their bodies torn apart by the explosion. It must have been a little behind Rafe, and he hopes to god Nadine is not lying here, bleeding out somewhere. “Nadine?”

“I'm alright,” he hears her yell. She's in the back of the tunnel, helping one of her men get up, Rafe sees. He pulls himself up with the help of the wall, stumbling back towards Nadine.

“That asshole just ran off,” Rafe spits, touching Nadine's arm.

“I know,” she replies, “I'll send my men after him as soon as they can.”

“Now,” Rafe orders, both to her and her men. They should know to follow his orders by now.

“Rafe, they'll need a few minutes to-”

“It's alright, ma'am,” one of her soldiers quirks up, Rafe doesn't know his name, “the ones in the back can go after him already, they didn't get hit by the blast.”

Nadine doesn't look happy about it but she agrees, letting them go while she checks the damages of the others. Some of them only have light wounds, and they're free to go, but there's quite a few with serious wounds. Rafe turns around when Nadine checks on them and sees them back to the ships with the help of a few others. They leave the dead behind, carefully continuing their way out of Avery's tunnel and towards the mountain that hides the ship.

They're so close, but Rafe doesn't feel different.

 

He still feels like he did that morning when Sam was gone from his bed.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is done

The last time he sees Sam face to face is on Avery's ship.

He tells Nadine to stay back, knows that this is the last time he and Sam will talk – only one of them would walk out of this alive, and Rafe is hellbent on it being himself. Yes, he loved Sam, might still love him under different circumstances, but he's done being walked all over by him.

He's ready for it all to end.

“Samuel,” Rafe yells, “there you have it, your treasure. Are you happy?”

Sam doesn't give him the satisfaction of responding.

“But, where is your famous brother?” Rafe asks, raising his arms in a questioning manner, looking around, pretending to search for Nathan. “What a twist of events, that we're here.  _ Together. _ As if it was meant to be like that from the beginning.”

“You're crazy, Rafe,” Sam spits. “There's something seriously wrong with you.”

Rafe laughs and pulls out his gun. He wants to say more, but Sam takes a step back and triggers an explosion, rocking them both off the ground as the ship collapses around them. When Rafe comes to, Sam is pinned beneath a beam, knocked unconscious. There's blood dripping off Rafe's face, and the dull pain of a headache is replaced by an unbearable pounding where he can feel a gash in his skin. It's getting in his hair, gluing strands of it together, and he crawls over to check on Sam. He's alive at least, still breathing, but Rafe can't lift the beam – he doesn't wake up when he slaps his face and yells his name, either.

“Come on, Samuel,” Rafe whines, brushing Sam's hair out of his face, “this isn't how I wanted this to end. You can't give up without a fight, come on...”

He tries to lift the beam again, but to no avail – it's too heavy, and trapped beneath the floorboards. Rafe gets on his knees again, shaking Sam's shoulders so hard his head is bouncing against the ground.

“You fucking idiot,” Rafe laughs manically, looking up and around the room as if it would give him an answer, somehow. His eyes wander over the tonnes upon tonnes of gold, a fortune worth billions if not more, and all he wants to do is find a knife and stab Sam in the chest, then wait for his brother to show up and do the same. Maybe he'd wait until Sam would wake up on his own and then slowly kill Nathan in front of him, Sam unable to do anything trapped beneath the beam.

He imagines making Sam lick the blood of the knife and then kissing him, Nathan's blood in both of their mouths, and he chuckles at the mental imagine. Sam would be so shocked – it would be a nice parallel to how their relationship started, steamy moments shared in seedy clubs when Rafe's nose began to bleed because of the drugs. It had happened quite often back then, he remembers hazily – Sam hadn't even mentioned it anymore, after a few weeks.

“What am I gonna do?” Rafe whispers, his hands still on Sam's shoulders.

There's a noise of someone stepping inside, and Rafe pulls out his gun, coughing as he gets onto his feet. It's Nathan, of course, coming to save his brother because he's so _ noble _ . He still loves him unconditionally, even after he had lied to him for weeks,  _ years _ even, if Rafe counts the time they had spent together before Sam threw Nate back into the mix. Rafe wonders what it's like – having family that cares, even after so much betrayal and heart ache.

He hasn't spoken to his parents in years.

It's a cruel play of the universe that Rafe gets betrayed once again today, by the one person who's had his back through all of this, no matter how harsh she was on him some days. But Nadine takes his gun and leaves the almost literally sinking ship, leaving behind Nathan and Rafe, trapped in a burning room that seems more and more like a fight cage to Rafe. Either they end it like this, or they'd burn or suffocate to death.

For a short moment Rafe wonders if this had played out differently had he shown Nadine more than the modicum of attention she'd gotten from him the last week. If she'd had let him out with her instead of leaving him behind to die.

“Come on, help me with Sam and I come help  you open the door,” Nathan yells out to him as he tries to move them beam off Sam's body. Together they might be able to free Sam, but Rafe doesn't want to anymore. He's got Nathan to fight now, a good substitute to Sam – Nathan and he had never had a good relationship, never liked each other. They were only civil for the sake of Sam, who had been the mediator between them the whole time the three of them were working together. Maybe that's why Nate and him together in Scotland didn't work out; Sam wasn't there to be the buffer between them they needed.

He remembers the day at the grave, the last time he had seen Nathan face to face before all this. He was ready to end it all back then, too, to take that last step off that cliff.

Maybe it would have been for the better. Nathan would have gotten over it; he saw his brother  _ “die” _ and still continued to work – seeing Rafe kill himself wouldn't have fazed him nearly as much. And Rafe would have been too dead to care. For a split second, Rafe wonders if Sam would have cared. If the prison would have ever released him on his own, would he have mourned Rafe like Rafe had mourned him? Probably not, Rafe decides. Too much time would have passed between his death and Sam finding out about it for it to still be relevant in Sam's life.

Rafe looks at the sword he's holding in his hands, gleaming in the flickering light of the fire around him.

It's time.

No matter the outcome of today,

he's alright with whatever happens.

 

 

Sam wraps himself in a blanket in Sully's plane. He looks out of the window, staring at the island that gets smaller and smaller the farther they're going. It's hard to believe it's over – they had found the treasure, found Libertalia, and survived a mad man's traps and another mad man's army.

And it doesn't give him the kind of pleasure, the kind of content feeling he was expecting. He almost feels...  _ sad _ . Like he didn't enjoy it enough while it was all happening.

He watches as Nathan wraps an arm around Elena. He feels bad about what he'd done to her as well. He'd almost destroyed his brothers marriage, he realizes – and Nathan still isn't giving him the cold shoulder, doesn't tell him to fuck off once and for all because he was happier when he thought Sam was dead. There is so much he has yet to figure out about his brother and the life he led while Sam was gone. He just hopes Nathan doesn't expect the same open book treatment Sam does. There are things he's not ready to talk about.

Rafe might be the top of the list of things he doesn't want to talk about with his brother.

According to what Rafe had said, Nate never figured out that there was more between that than a work relationship, and Sam is content with letting him believe that. He needs to work through the relationship he had had with Rafe on his own time before telling anyone, if he ever does decide to speak about it.

Victor would probably be his first choice if he ever did want to, Sam decides to his own surprise. He's known for years and kept his word about not talking about it, so Sam guesses Victor's more trustworthy than Sam had thought before.

But he doesn't even know what he would say.

My ex lover turned crazy, kept me practically locked away for two years, and then tried to kill both me and my brother? He chuckles darkly, which makes Nathan look up, but Sam just shakes his head to show that he doesn't want to talk.

Maybe it's just better to not think about him at all, anymore. Forgetting the good times for the sake of forgetting the bad times as well, forgetting the smell of Rafe's skin and how it felt beneath Sam's tongue and fingers. His moans, his voice, his laugh the few times Sam managed to coax it out of him.

No, he can't forget.

But time heals all wounds, and Sam is ready to finally stop picking at the wounds Rafe left on him. Maybe he'll meet someone new he'll love as much as he had loved Rafe in the beginning, maybe not. But he's ready to move on, once and for all, leave Rafe behind on that god forsaken island together with the treasure he wanted to badly.

_ Our treasure _ , he had called it.

Sam had wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment.


End file.
